HHS Word Warriors

Ariel Wilkerson

English 12- 3^rd

Eye Witness Account Paper

Greta Zimmerman, Lived through Holocaust

Day 8

It has been a week since I’ve been in this camp….everything is either ill or dead in this place they call Wadowitz. I’m trying to hang on as long as I can, but I feel lost without my sister. I don’t know where they have taken her. Hopefully not to where I saw the smoke arising….God I pray they didn’t. Oh how I wish that I could see her face once again. Even though she was the oldest, she was very frail and fragile for her age. They better not have hurt her……

I think I hear someone coming.

Day 15

Today wasn’t such a good day. I know my parents taught me not to hate but its hard not to. All these girls act like animals when it comes to food. They hunger for food while I hunger to see my family. They fight over sleeping space when I would fight to see my home again.  I did not get my ration of soup like I do normally and my bread loaf was stolen from under my pillow last night. I saw someone get beat today for taking a pause while working. The young girl looked just about my age if not younger. I wanted to run out and comfort her and tear her away from the SS guard arms….but I couldn’t. I just stared as tears streamed down my face. The alarms are going off….another tiring roll call. They make us stand in the cold snow for hours at a time until they finally dismiss us. I can not wait till I am free of this torturous place.

Day 27

I never knew that one nice person could be in such a horrible place…I met the nurse today. I was diagnosed with frostbite. My toes were so frozen that she said that they could easily be broken off. She warmed them up with a steaming hot cloth which hurt at first, but felt so wonderful at the same time. Her name was Gerda. She didn’t talk much but her eyes spoke to me; they smiled at me a little. She told the short, but very mean looking man who supposedly ran the camp that I should lay off my feet for a couple of days and for that I was grateful. When she finally spoke to me she said “How old are you?” I told her I was fourteen. She started to cry once I told her this. I did not know why and I dared not ask her….maybe I should have.

I can’t stop thinking about Gerda. I’m curious of why she was crying.

            Reasons why she might cry:

1.      Maybe I remind her of somebody

2.      Maybe she knows something about my feet that I don’t know

3.      Maybe she cries all the time

Day 29

Everyone is outside in the cold working and I’m in here in pain. I hope Gerda comes to visit me….she has to check on my feet anyway. I’m starting to forget what my parents look like and my sister too. I can’t let this happen….if it does I have nothing. When will this war be over? I think it’s been a month since I’ve been in this frozen hell. I heard some girls talking about they think it will be over soon and that the Americans will come and save us….I highly doubt it. Maybe we aren’t meant to be saved by anyone…maybe this was our destiny….I don’t know. I’m tired now.

Day 42

I’m trying to write more but I never seem to find time anymore. We have more and more roll calls now and no one knows why. We already had three today. My friend Liesel says it’s because they think people are disappearing…I don’t know if she’s right. If there are girls disappearing, I wish I could be one of them. I wish I could be a lot of things. I wish I could be back home in Bielsko. I wish my whole family would be there sitting at the table eating some of mama’s delicious biscuits….Oh how I miss them. I miss everything. Maybe if I disappear I won’t miss anything anymore. Maybe if I just lay here and never get up for work or do anything the guards say the SS soldiers  will come and make me disappear…….maybe then I could finally be at peace.

hcps-wilkersae :: May.26.2009 :: Non-Fiction, Project :: No Comments »

                                                                                                             Empress Harrison

                                                                                                             Period 3

                                                                                                             October 22, 2008

I, Empress Harrison, the 8^th wonder of the Harrison family tree have many skills, talents, and positive attributes. To the ordinary eye, trying to stand out in a crowd of nine would be extremely hard, maybe even impossible. I, on the other hand, take it somewhat as a test. Instead of following my family’s footsteps, I create my own in the sands of life. Throw any obstacle my way and I shall challenge that challenge.

Independence is my middle name. Over the summer I spent many moons (2+ months exactly) in the wilderness of Harriman State Park with practical strangers. Yes, as time carried on they were no longer strange, but more like family, yet in the beginning, they were no more identifiable than a squirrel I had seen the day before. Not only had I overcome a fear of being away from the familiar, but also developing a diligent dependence on myself. I think of it as an act of courage considering what all could have happened to me. It was vitally important for me to have my brain power ready at all times. In the beginning I was as scared as a cowardly lion but soon realized that I really needed to step up. Of course being six hours away from the motherland was not easy but I learned to love and appreciate all that surrounded me.

Don’t be so quick to judge me as some supernatural phenomenon. I have my flaws. To fault is human; || as to overcome is as well. There are many bridges I must cross. I’ve made it through almost 18 winters and there are so many to go. My next biggest step is getting into a house of scholars that will open my head to new things. I have faith in my talents, actions and words that I will end up in the right place. Once there, I will rule the school in a way no person has or ever will. I know I can and I will.

hcps-harrisoeq :: May.26.2009 :: Poetry, Project :: No Comments »

Feminism in Jane Eyre: A change

In the novel Jane Eyre, Jane is a mere reflection of Charlotte Bronte’s views between men and women. Jane once said, “Women are supposed to be very calm generally, but women feel just as men feel; they need exercise for their faculties and a field for their efforts as much as their brothers do; they suffer from too rigid a restraint, it is narrow minded in their more privileged fellow creatures to say they ought to confine themselves to making puddings and knitting stockings, to playing the piano, and embroidering bags. It is thoughtless to condemn them, or laugh at them, if they seek to do more or learn more than custom has pronounced necessary for their sex” (Bronte 129). Feminism is a very contradictory theme throughout literary history. Feminism simply represents intelligence and self worth in a female and not too much as a rebellion against men. Through Charlotte Bronte’s best written novel, Jane Eyre, Miss Bronte helped break the stereotype of feminism by making men and women more equal.

In the novel Jane Eyre, Jane struggles to continually achieve equality and overcome oppression. She must also fight against those who believe women to be inferior to men and try to treat them     as such. Three male figures, Mr. Brocklehurst, Edward Rochester, and St. John Rivers, threaten her desire for equality. They all keep Jane in a submissive position, where she is unable to express her own thoughts and feelings. She must escape Mr. Brocklehurst, reject St. John, and come to Mr. Rochester only if he ensures they will marry as equals. Jane proves to herself that she does not have to be solely dependent on Mr. Rochester for money and love. In the end, Rochester is blind and depends on Jane for his guide. Charlotte Bronte set the standard of feminism by breaking the “traditional nineteenth century fictional stereotype of a woman as submissive, dependent, beautiful, and ignorant.  Her first novel, Jane Eyre (1847), was immediately recognized for its originality and power, though it was some time before its author was universally accepted to be a woman” (Gale).  She was the creator of intelligent, independent heroines who asserted their rights as women long before those rights were recognized by society (Gale).

During the 1800s, education for women was minimal and if any women had such a desire to go to school, they were looked down upon (“Women”). “The 1800s started out having men leaving the farms and ranches and had them breaking out into the world of business in shops offices and the like” (“Women”). This left women in charge at home to care for their children. As the century moved on, women began to get lonely and they soon realized they “could do what men do: think, do business, work, provide, and still be women (“Women”). The early nineteenth century provided women with little opportunity to enter many parts of society. Thus, women had to follow the typical role for which was mapped out for them. Women were thought as forward thinkers who had to fight not only men, but the greater society to prove they were worthy of their education (Jager) and doing what was outside the Victorian feminine ideal. In my opinion I feel that women should be thought of as equal. Through the years women have fought to have equal rights like men while still possessing the feminine qualities. Why shouldn’t we have equality amongst men in society? For example, women like Susan B. Anthony fought and won a fight to have women’s voices be heard and to also have the right to vote. Had it been for her, women today would not have that privilege. Another example is Amilia Airheart.  As the first female air pilot, she displayed that women too can do things that men can do and still have their femininity. It is not that women can not do what can do, but rather that women are over looked for manly accomplishments. Though females today still fight for equality, there are several significant dissimilarities between the nineteenth century and today. One positive dissimilarity is that females of today are viewed as strong, more independent, intelligent, and sophisticated, whereas women in the nineteenth century were viewed as ignorant, helpless, and dependent on males. As a matter of a fact, females are viewed as more mature and sometimes more successful than males. Females today have more recognition and pride for who they are and how they feel they should be treated. Many women today do not remain locked in the inside of their homes to only care for their children, unless they choose to. They go to college, get their education, and “help” provide for their family household. The absence of educational opportunities for women gave them little option in life. It was either they become a house wife or a governess, but today there is at least one female in each career field.

            Bronte’s Novel embodies the ideology of equality between men and women in marriage as well as the society at large. She only asks for the simple “recognition that the same heart and the same spirit animate both men and women,” which brings me back to the famous plea that women should not be confined to “making pudding and knitting stockings, to playing the piano and embroidering bags” (Robert). Though society does not create men and women completely equal in different environments, Bronte’s question for the simple “recognition that the same heart and the same spirit animate both men and women” (Robert) has come true. Women today have more freedom to express themselves; and are able to control what they become in life. Charlotte Bronte influenced this idea by expressing her ideas through the feminist, independent, intelligent, and self confident character, Jane. Now we have many strong females that are proud to say they their equal.

hcps-garrisows :: May.26.2009 :: Non-Fiction, Project :: No Comments »

In a land where villains of scarcity and turmoil rule over all, my people have made their mark in this world and with their unity I lady Marsilina Patricia Eikerenkoetter was born. Upon a mighty Honda, Lady April Queen of holy praises to God and Sir Berkley Jr. King of Richmond police warriors rode south from the ruins of Philadelphia to the sweet land of Virginia to make a kingdom for my brother (Sir Berkley H. Eikerenkoetter III) and I. As a first born daughter of five generations, I was appointed ruler ship over my kinsman Sir Berkley III prince of double bogie, and was chosen as his guardian until he came into manhood. It was through those turbulent years filled with love and hatred that Sir Berkley III and I fought and rivaled against each other to gain possession of the mighty scepter that controlled the glorious cable box.

            Near and far I have traveled in a great and noble quest challenging all those who opposed me. I have defeated the beastly Beulah Elementary whale and have sailed the vast oceans of Falling Creek Middle School. After four long winters, I have embarked on yet another dangerous adventure by conquering the treacherous demons of high school. On a golden ship I sailed to the evil land of Henrico High School and it was there that I and my fellow warriors defeated the villainous Lord Rodriguez, and freed the village from the tearing of the Krowl monster. In honor of my victory, the village people bestowed upon me, a crowed of glory and made me and nine of my warriors, prince and princesses to rule together the land of Henrico High School.

            Thus ends the story of my journey until my next adventure where I seek to find a new land…..College.

hcps-eikeremp1 :: May.26.2009 :: Project :: No Comments »

Cara and Mady came first

Then six more were to follow

Eight kids–an unimagined life hard to swallow

The bubble would burst

As Jon & Kate’s paths became diverse

In the incessant fame they do not wallow

For the tabloids paint a story hollow

To quench the public’s thirst

Rumors were started

Because of Jon’s partying way

But they vow they haven’t parted

For their eight kids together they will stay

Jon & Kate–The Gosselins

Devoted parents of sextuplets and twins

hcps-wilenskab :: May.26.2009 :: Poetry, Project :: No Comments »

 I awake each day with a smile

I knew then she was heaven sent

My soul belongs to you.

Every breath I take is meant for you,

I love you and would die for you

I would fly you to the moon and back if you’ll be . . . if you’ll be my love

Love is my religion

Is to love and be loved in return.

hcps-nazeriam :: May.26.2009 :: Poetry, Project :: No Comments »

Happiness is silent, or speaks equivocally for friends,

Happiness, to some, elation;

Is, to others, mere stagnation.

Happiness grows within us

a sense of being, of sharing, of true blessing.

Happiness is when the moment

catches the sunlight and a giggle

comes out of darkness to take a look.

Happiness. It comes on unexpectedly

(this poem is a cento)

hcps-dhillonmk :: May.26.2009 :: Poetry, Project :: No Comments »

I’m still breaking old habits

Habits when you pulled the wool over me

The strange light comes on slowly

Close your eyes with what’s not there

I want to hold the hand inside you

Fade into you

Every now’s a big surprise
Help me to get through this
Stay with me until I die
There’s nothing else I wanna try

I want to take the breath that’s true

I look to you to see the truth

Don’t worry I’ll catch you

Don’t worry I’ll catch you
Don’t ever worry
No need for reminding…

You’re still all that matters to me

hcps-bosthc :: May.26.2009 :: Poetry, Project :: No Comments »

She walks through the forest alone

Emotions built up inside her needed to be free

Tears drip down her face like a leaky faucet

No one knows her secret she holds inside of her

They couldn’t know for she was pure

Holding her stomach she runs further and further through the forest

A smile comes across her face

—- She stops

A pain shoots through her suddenly

She falls to her knees and then lays on her back

 Her beating rapidly as she begins to breath faster and faster

A loud cry lashes out for all the forest to hear

Her secret has now come out!

hcps-taylorcm1 :: May.26.2009 :: Poetry, Project :: No Comments »

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
She walks in beauty, like the night
Sing, Heavenly Muse
Do not go gentle into that good night
Whose woods these are I think I know
They took some honey, and plenty of money
And birds of prey
Bird thou never wert
Down to a sunless sea
I wandered lonely as a cloud
So worn with passing through the bars
In the forests of the night
Had we but world enough, and time
Stop all the clocks
The curfew tolls the knell of parting day
To Hades, and their bodies to the dogs
Tomorrow will be dying
If you can keep your head when all about you
I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness.

hcps-gosaiesn :: May.26.2009 :: Poetry, Project :: No Comments »

And when will it end

This tumbling from stars to mars

And when will they send

A savior for the damned

For we are all messed up

As we fly around on waves of need

Drinking from the sacred cup

Of bull s*** knowledge that we feed

I want to see the game board

As we trance across each move

But what really will this knowledge give

Any more than empty luck

All the eyes are made of fire

Each and every person

Speaks like a liar

Shooting glaze of arson

I crave new

I want to create, to make

To understand the picture

Hoping not to see a fake

And when will it end

What’s it going to be eh?

Beauty in the flawed

Or flawed among the grey

I had a dream in my sleep

That the colors vibrant

The world did keep

Ill never wake to see the gray

hcps-gallaghcr :: May.26.2009 :: Poetry, Project :: 1 Comment »

He always follows.  But can he belong?

Walk, run, jump, or hide—he tags right along.

My shy companion cannot bask in light.

Once darkness falls may he quench parched night.

Flooding men with fear, his hunger grows strong.

Echoing constantly all I do wrong.

Strange, silent dancer to my simple song.

He mimics whichever thing I get right.

He always follows.

He commands. I cower. He towers long.

He’s lost in a crowd. I’m safe in the throng.

He must step on my toes or ground my flight.

He feeds on fright’s venom. Fertile delight.

He’s always been there. He must belong.

He always follows.

hcps-dippoldgj :: May.26.2009 :: Poetry, Project :: No Comments »

She yelled to her dad for a Snicker.

“Come get it cuz I don’t deliver.”

                      “Forget it,” she said

        Then she went to bed.

    Come morning her teeth were still with her.

hcps-simmsgk :: May.26.2009 :: Poetry, Project :: No Comments »

I dreamt I had slept on my head,

Felt alarmed awaking in bed,

Brushed teeth with a comb,

And cleaned with a phone.

The moral: drink coffee instead.

hcps-dippoldgj :: May.26.2009 :: Poetry, Project :: No Comments »

Lachrymosa

Note:  This is an excerpt from a larger story that is not yet finished.

At first he had not seen her. Admittedly, he was drifting off, as he was prone to do at these functions. It was only his sense of personal dignity that tethered him to the scene – after all, a funeral was a funeral, and one had to endure.

The groundskeeper of the St. Michael the Archangel School of Music had passed, leaving behind his hedge-clippers for an eternity of solitude. The Baron himself had never known the man; however, as the patron of the conservatory in question, he felt obligated to pay his respects. Lord knew the old man had worked every day of his life – each year, despite his increasingly painful arthritis, the guardian topiaries flanking the building’s gate had been impeccably maintained, with nary a leaf out of place.
As he felt the music envelop him, the Baron made a note to congratulate the school’s choirmaster. Mozart’s Requiem, which could prove challenging to orchestrate, proved to be the perfect selection for the occasion. It spoke volumes about the school that the choir students could perform with such facility and grace. The star of the performance was a glowing, flaxen-haired soprano, looking angelic and pure despite her somber black dress. The Baron could sense the palpable envy radiating from the other students as her voice soared on the high notes of the Lachrymosa – especially the alto section, who favored the soloist with particularly harsh glares.

There was something odd, though, the Baron realized. Narrowing his eyes, he focused his attention on the sound itself. Rich, certainly, and poignant despite the youth of the singers, but…there.

“Pie Jesu, Jesu domine…”

A softness to it – a mellowness. Something that, despite her loveliness and clear talent, the clear-voiced soprano could not recognize, much less deliver. This quality belonged to a much lower female voice, a contralto – it evoked in the Baron distant, distant memories of a mother’s arms, a comforting embrace. Thoughts that he hadn’t recalled for hundreds of years.

The Baron was shaken. Despite his quite advanced age – or perhaps because of it – he rarely had the opportunity to experience such devotion. His condition necessitated a profound detachment in order to prevent discovery and general disaster. Even appearances like this bore great risk for his secret. With every venture into society, the odds increased that someone would point him out as what he was. He needed to be distant in order to maintain his position. But even knowing that, even having carefully constructed a wall of stoicism around his person, even with his assuredness that any connection with the world would bring about his demise, he could not help but respond to the tenderness in that song.

He had to know. He had to know whose voice was breaking him. Thankfully, he managed to be discreet as he produced his opera glasses – there was no use jostling the old woman next to him unnecessarily.

Scanning the alto section, he was immediately able to eliminate the singers voice by voice. Not the mousy one with the overbite. Not the ginger-haired youth shooting jealous looks at the soprano. Not the plump girl whose voice squeaked on the sharps…

And then he saw her.

She (he immediately began to refer to her in his mind as She) appeared to be fourteen or so years of age – her face, while possessing the start of cheekbones, was still rounded from youth. Her eyes were obscured behind thick black bangs. He glimpsed a flash of red lips, curved into a slight smile as she sang the words of the –

No.

He could not do this.

The Baron mentally clamped down. He refused to attach, like some pathetic animal, to another human being. He had spent his life alone, cursed into watching those he knew wither and die while he remained in the prime of his life. Forced to the sidelines, he became a chess-player, merely watching the pieces shift position as the result of his minimal moves. In that instant, he regretted leaving his safe haven; reaching his cane, he prepared to make an early departure –

She met his eyes.

He froze. Dear God, her eyes. Deep blue, almost black, almond-shaped and she can’t be more than fourteen almost too large for her face. With a clear view of her stop looking at her he pieced together the full picture: the aforementioned eyes, straight nose, full you can’t think about this lips, all under the curtain of black curls. Absently you should have left he noted a slight olive tone to her pale skin, and the way her features seemed to belong to an older no excuses woman.

But her eyes – her eyes. As soon as he saw them; rather, as soon as they saw him, his heart, horrifyingly, seemed to stop for a fraction of a second.

And, as Baron Matthias von Hindenberg spent that one moment locked in her gaze, he wryly reflected – between forceful reiterations of the statement that he was certainly going straight to Hell - that this slip of a girl had succeeded where even Nadja had failed.

The Baron was utterly enraptured.

hcps-urbaned :: May.25.2009 :: Fiction, Project :: No Comments »

I hopped up out my bed, turned my light on,

And did my morning routine.

Took my notes out to get into the zone

But then I realized there were things I had never seen.

I got to school with a cup of Starbucks

And rode the yellow cheese bus to save some gas.

I knew I would be up from dawn to dusk,

Whether or not this guy was going to pass.

The bus arrived only five minutes late.

Everyone else was there getting ready to pray.

I took Paper 1 and didn’t feel so great,

Played some Ultimate Frisbee which made my day

I calculated some delta H, or enthalpy.

However, I believe I still failed that chemistry.

hcps-braggcd :: May.25.2009 :: Poetry, Project :: No Comments »

Hoping to catch your eye

High heels

Great feels

Of round and voluptuous tea and apricots

Whenever you look at me I wish I was her

Hoping to hold your hand

Long hair

Skin fair

Like the women on television

Whenever you look at me I wish I was her

Hoping to smell your scent

Clothes tight

Shorts right

Something similar to the girls in the velvet room

Whenever you look at me I wish I was her

Hoping to taste your lips

Lip-gloss

Teeth flossed

Reminiscent of the actor Angelina Jolie

Whenever you look at me I wish I was her

Hoping to hear your voice

All night

Holding tight

Something like the girl you want to meet and never let go

Whenever you look at me I wish I was her

hcps-singletts :: May.25.2009 :: Poetry, Project :: No Comments »

There is a place in the mountains where time stands still.  There are no televisions, or computers to distract me from the peace I seek while I am there.  The fresh mountain air leaves me feeling refreshed and awakend, while the cool bubbling spring water quenches my thrist after a long hike up to teh peak of the mountain and back.  The reds, yellows, oranges, and browns of the fall leaves remind me of the beauty the world offers if we only take the time to look for it.  The warm sunny days and cool fall nights remind me when I could hold onto my mommy and daddy and everything would be alright.  The old wooden structures are a fortress where the outside world cannot invade into my home away from home.  This magical place is known as Shrine Mont, which stands in Orkney Springs, Virginia.

Every fall the church where my father grew up goes to this place.  It is a reminder that life is not always about the traffic on the highway when you are already late for an early meeting, or the electric bill that just keeps rising, or the big talking box that seems to find its way into every room of the house.  Life is not about any of those things.  LIfe is about fellowship with friends and family, wating food you have not tasted since you left your mother’s house, or dancing in a square even you feel like a dope.  Shrine Mont is a place where life becomes simple.  It’s a place where you only need to worry about how many times you are going to need to loosen your belt before the weekend is over.

A cross stands tall at the top of the mountain, watching and guarding this place for all who come to rest.  When you stand at teh shrine you stand on the brink of two worlds.  Down one side lies West Virginia and dodwn the other lies home.  The beauty of the mountains is humbling to all who see it.  Shrine Mont is a place to feel protected, sheltered, refreshed, humbled from what our world dispenses.

hcps-pattersas :: May.22.2009 :: Non-Fiction, Project :: No Comments »

Yellow butterfly

Dozen roses piled high

We all say goodbye

hcps-gillkl :: May.22.2009 :: Poetry, Project :: No Comments »

Soft-core porn is not extolled as fine literature.  Common sense dictates this to the general public.  However, somehow John Updike has managed to write short stories that prove an exception to that rule.  “Elsie by Starlight” and “A & P” are both examples of a breed of art which shocks and compels its observer, imparting an honest message within imagery which brings a blush to the face of polite society.  Updike’s stories are in the coming-of-age genre, each a young man’s story of a young woman who changes his life in some way through their interaction.  Each is unique, however, in its climate of feeling; “Elsie by Starlight” is secretive, sensuous, and an exploration of permission, while “A&P” flaunts itself to society, acting in spite of disapproving eyes.

            Queenie’s audacity in her choice of clothing is what catches Sammy’s eye in “A&P.”  He perceives her as a purely physical creature, and dismisses intelligence in her conversation or thoughts by replacing them with “buzz buzz.”  Yet she controls him; he follows her around the store with his eyes, and he is captivated by her every move.  Queenie is the inciting force in this short story.  She chooses to ignore the rules of both the store, by way of her dress code violation, and society, flaunting what is supposed to be kept hidden, and shocking the “sheep” that populate the store.  Doing so, she provokes Sammy into reevaluating his surroundings.  He realizes that he despises the monotonous world of the supermarket and the predetermined lifestyle it represents, and chooses to follow the colorful, seductive dreams of the girls.  Once he leaves the store, however, he finds that they were only dreams, gone before he could catch them.

            Elsie, too, is an inciting force, but she incites a different conflict.  Where the narrator of “A&P” was fighting against society, Owen of “Elsie by Starlight” is pitted against himself and his desire.  He is the stereotypical teenage boy, and as their explorations deepen Elsie herself is the obstruction to the feelings that she inspires in him.  Her very existence both calls them to life and makes them an impossibility, because she and Owen both know the consequences of such actions.  She slowly gives him inch by inch, controlling exactly what he can do at the same time that she “just holds still.”  While she doesn’t physically impose limits on him, her presence creates the conflict in Owen’s mind of just how far to go.  It comes to a head in Elsie’s father’s forest, where they “might have fucked,” and it is revealed to Owen that she was controlling everything all along.

            That night he realizes something has changed – they do not melt together as they did before.  There is no longer the connection wrought from shared exploration, because Elsie has given the most that she will ever give to him.  Owen has been enlightened to that which is unspeakable and hidden, that to which the outside world will hardly admit.  “Nudity…was too serious, too vulnerable,” a precious rite of passage with holy connotations.  The discovery of sexuality, of purity, and of innocence and its preservation, all embodied in Elsie, form a stage of life which Owen passes through, a rite of passage.  On the last night, Elsie’s “voice loses its movie-screen largeness and becomes small, with a childish quaver.”  This is a revelation of the innocence in her that prevents them both from making the commitment and taking the final step that would take their heretofore individual relationship into the depth of a mutually dependant allegiance.  Until now they have been exploring each other as examples of the canon, an experimentation of what being with another person is like, not as two people interested in an extended relationship with each other.  Their interactions are purely physical; Owen’s observations of Elsie solely regard her body, never the quality of her personality.  Once they have explored the extent of each other physically, there is nothing holding them together as they were.  Since the stem of their relationship is broken, they never see each other again, and each moves on, both literally and figuratively. 

            “A&P” is also a coming-of-age story, though “Elsie by Starlight” is based in physicality and sexuality, and in “A&P” these themes are only means to an end.  Sammy, in a juvenile and rash decision fueled by lust, at least on a superficial level, actually moves away from his youth and enters adulthood when he is met with taking responsibility for his actions.  He realizes “how hard the world is going to be” now that he is making independent decisions.  While working in the store, his role was determined, his daily structure set by his manager or his parents.  Now that he’s alienated both, he will be held accountable for every move he makes.  He’s gone from the protected indoors to the freedom of the outside world.

Sammy’s alert mind was looking for an escape from the repetitive drudgery he bore daily witness to: his friend stuck in a high-school job at 22 with two kids, his boss fixated on trivialities, and the denizens of the store set in their routines.  So when the three girls walked in from an exotic world of color, light, and bathing suits, Sammy’s descriptions of them are filled with that vitality.  From the “bright green bathing suit” to the “shining rim” of skin peeking out from under it, he is fixated on their bodies and how out of place they are walking out of the sun into the “fluorescent lights” and walking barefoot over the “checkerboard green-and-cream rubber-tile floor.”  Their presence is bold and obvious, “against the usual traffic.” As if on a runway they saunter along “slow and straight,” daring protest from the “sheep.”  The public setting, main-stream brands and packages, and Lengel’s figure of authority contribute to the antagonist society, a disapproving mass whom the girls defy.  Sammy savors the details of the aliens, ambassadors whose bodies speak of freedom and disregard for rules. 

“Elsie by Starlight” is the perfect opposite of this bold defiance.  The mood is quiet, reverent, and dark.  Though each scene takes place at night, a time of secrets and solitude, Elsie is always haloed by atmospheric light, be it from raindrop reflections, moonlight, or “distant streetlamp.”  Private and taboo, their activities must be hidden from the direct light of the world, shone in their faces by a policeman’s flashlight.  They are absorbed in silken, smooth, slippery, silvery, glassy sensations, consumed by sensation rather than sound, an “expansion of consciousness…in dark seclusion.” 

hcps-herrey :: May.21.2009 :: Non-Fiction, Project :: No Comments »

Mr. McConnell’s blog.

admin :: May.06.2009 :: Project :: No Comments »

Hey

admin :: May.06.2009 :: Project :: No Comments »

Good to be here.

admin :: May.06.2009 :: Project :: No Comments »

kljfadskljfsdajkl; sdafdsf

marktwain :: May.06.2009 :: Project :: No Comments »

something nice

admin :: May.05.2009 :: Project :: No Comments »

Looking foward to posting student work.

admin :: May.05.2009 :: Project :: No Comments »

Working now?

admin :: May.05.2009 :: Project :: No Comments »

Henrico is a great place to teach and to learn!!!

admin :: May.05.2009 :: Project :: No Comments »

My students have been writing poetry, and I am looking forward to sharing those pieces…

admin :: May.05.2009 :: Project :: No Comments »

Something nice

admin :: May.05.2009 :: Project :: No Comments »

We love Mike!!!

admin :: May.05.2009 :: Project :: No Comments »

This is a test.

admin :: May.05.2009 :: Project :: No Comments »

This is a test.

admin :: May.04.2009 :: Project :: No Comments »

Anticipating the advent of this site. Great work evident so far. I have 1,000,001 articles to publish

admin :: May.04.2009 :: Project :: No Comments »

I love the name of my blog - its very cute and makes me smile

admin :: May.04.2009 :: Project :: No Comments »

This is the first blog for our project! You will be getting written instructionas about what you need to do as the turn-in date gets closer.

admin :: May.04.2009 :: Project :: No Comments »

project tag

admin :: Apr.30.2009 :: Project :: No Comments »

Categories include project, poetry, little

marktwain :: Apr.30.2009 :: Poetry, Project :: No Comments »

Normal post with correct categories.  Fiction, Little, Project.

marktwain :: Apr.30.2009 :: Fiction, Project :: No Comments »